User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 21
Previous Chapters 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 21 4th Era 100, 1st of Rain's Hand, Pyandonea The men and women sat or stood around the table, arguing. This was nothing new, but every week the arguments were generally different in nature. The spectators always watched, though it wasn't always the same people every meeting. The usually said nothing, preffering to watch and listen, but this week they also joined in, creating a racket that could make someone come investigating. "All right, enough! Quiet, all of you!" shouted a brown haired man, standing at the center of the room, trying to get everyone's attention. The many voices slowly died out. He spoke again. "Arguing is not going to bring Orthendar back. He made his choice, and had to pay the consequences." A thin lipped blonde Elf folded her arms over her chest. "You talk about him as if he was just another of the King's men. Like his life mattered for nothing." The man looked over his shoulder. "You know, Alana, that is not what I meant at all. Don't try to put words in my mouth." He turned to face her, his voice taking on a softer tone. "You would have more reason than the rest of us to lament Orthendar's passing. I know he was your intended." Alana's eyes wattered as she stared at the floor, willing herself not to cry again. She had already wept until her tear ducts were burning and dry so many times before. She cleared her throat. "We were supposed to be married next month." The man nodded slowly. "I know. I was to perform the ceremony. You have my condolences for your loss, but arguing in this way will not bring him back." She continued to stare at the floor, slowly winning her attempt to not cry again. Wiping her hand across her nose, she sniffled and mumbled, "I know. I just...talking about him makes it feel like he's here." "Because I am here," came a voice from a dark corner. Every head turned jerked in the direction. "Orthendar..." breathed the priest, eyes wide in wonder and shock. "I-Is that really you? Or is it just an illusion from the King?" White eyes sought out the preist. "I assure you its me, Talgando. And, yes, before you ask, I am indeed dead. I came back to assure you that Markadil is dead himself." Alana rushed towards him, arms outstretched. He quickly held up his hand, halting her progress. "No, my love. I am incorporeal. Your arms will just pass through me." She stopped, crying, the battle to avoid it lost utterly at the sight of her beloved. "You ...You look...You look ... Well. You're a gh--" she stammered. "Ghost?" he finished. He held out his hands, examining them. They were back to what they were pre-attack, as was the rest of him. He found that he could, after his death, change his appearance at will, choosing his bloodied form to frighten Markadil in the dream sequence. Now, he looked much like he had in life, barring the slight translucence and glow. Nerien, out of uniform, spoke from his position at the table, since no one else in the room appeared to be able to say much of anything. "How do you know Markadil is dead?" The ghost turned his attention to the Harbor Guardsman. "Nerien." He smile out of a corner of his mouth. "Always to the point, eh?" The Guardsman shrugged. "Like humans like to say: Its harder for Elves to change than men." Orthendar smiled, inclining his head. "True...in most cases. Markadil could be an example for that saying. It got him killed." Talgando found his voice with some difficulty. "Balasian killed him?" "No," Orthendar replied, turning his head to the other Elf. "His beloved did." Alana whispered, full of hope and awe, "He has...found someone?" He turned back to his intended, speaking tenderly. "Yes. A nice, young Altmer woman. He lives with her in her house." "How long has he been there?" Nerien asked. "Over two weeks, now. Since he escaped the isle." "What about the King's steed? What of its fate?" Nerien asked, stretching his neck. Orthendar stared at him, incredulenty asking, "Are you telling me, Nerien, that Markadil took Orgnum's serpent for his trip?" He grimaced. "Definately. It could not have been any other steed. It wore that stupid purple saddle." Orthendar laughed long at this relevation, and though it sounded much like his laugh when he had been alive, there was now a slight echo to it. "That's rich. Perfect, too. I saw a serpent tied to a tree from a distance, but didn't get closer. I'll take care of it myself." "You've been there? To Summerset?" asked a red haired woman from a corner. His eyes shifted to the direction of the speaker. "I've seen you before. Peladine, was it?" The woman nodded. "Of course I've been there," he replied, answering her question. "How do you think I got this knowledge? Ghosts are like living people: They only know what they've seen and heard." She blushed, flustered. "Well, I thought...I'd read somewhere..." Orthendar smiled wryly. "Then that scholar or author is dead wrong." Alana gazed up at him. "Why...did you try to...with Markadil?" Orthendar flicked his eyes to the ceiling before staring at the floor, pressing his lips together as he sighed through his nose. He knew everyone wanted to know why he had...done what he had done. They all stared at him, expecting an answer. "I thought I could protect Balasian from him. I may have been good, but he was even better. Likely why he had been head of the assassin's guild for as long as he had." He chuckled a bit. "He got me quickly, but he was no match for a fearful, determined young woman with a knife." He paused, weighing his next words. "I know I should have told someone, but...its too late to take it back. Only Auri-El can turn back the time, and he hasn't done that for me; only let me come back and serve the cause." Talgando's eyes widened as his brows furrowed in awe. "You have spoken to--" The ghost's head turned in his direction. "No. I somehow know. It's just...one of those subtle things." The preist nodded absent mindedly, still trying to take everything in. "When did you come back?" Nerien asked, crossing his legs. "The night I was killed. I came to Markadil as he slept and gave him a warning what would happen if he continued his actions before following him on his journey. And before you ask: No, I didn't tell or let Balasian know I was there. It would have been...too awkward." He stopped and pondered, rubbing his chin. "I think I will let him know my presence when I go to kill the King's steed, however. Do any of you have anything you want me to tell him?" Nerien glanced around the room - a rather large one, packed with all the "rebels" that could make it to the meeting without being missed - and saw that all were still in various stages of amazement or awe and couldn't (or wouldn't) speak. He decided to speak for them all, himself included. "We all continue the causes and remain undetected. We will wait for him as long as he needs to be gone from the isle." The dead Elf gave a single nod. "Done." * * * She didn't know how she finally got to sleep, but eventually the tossing and turning stopped and she fell into a deep sleep...until she felt something heavy get into the other side of the bed that she used to share with Orthendar. Sitting bolt upright, she fumbled with the sheets, trying to get them off and get the candle from beside her bed as the room began to glow with a soft, white light. Imobilized in fear, she slowly turned her head in that direction, Alana saw a brightly glowing form lying there on the bed. Before she could cry out, the glow faded and she saw Orthendar lying there. She slumped back onto the bed, the sheets making a soft "whoosh" sound. "Did I frighten you?" he asked quietly, tucking a wisp of her hair behind her ear. "Yes, you did. You could have--" She quickly turned to face him. "I thought that you couldn't touch me, nor I you?" Proping his head up on his hand, he repied softly, "This is a dream. They are different." "Well, then how can you kill Orgnum's steed? Are you going to kill it in its sleep?" He ran his fingers down her jaw. "Combat is different, somehow. Not to say I am invunerable out of dreams. A mage or someone trained in the magical arts could cast a fire or banishing spell and I would be cast out of the world for a time." Alana snuggled against him, somewhat disturbed that his body was only room temperature instead of warm, like a living person should be. He sensed her discomfort. "I know I don't feel like I used to," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "But I still enjoy this." She spoke quietly against his chest. "I do, too. Don't misunderstand me, please. I'm glad to see you back, I just...I wish you could be with me in more than a dream." He moved to balance over her on his elbows and knees. "I do too, but it is what it is. We can at least enjoy this time we have together," he replied, kissing her forehead. She reached up and put her hand behind his head, his silky soft hair between her fingers, lowering his head to hers. He gave no resistance. He still gave the same kisses that he used to in life. He squeezed her waist as he nibbled the tip of her ear. "It won't feel as real as the waking world, but..." he said as he moved his face in front of her sad but eager one. One of her hands cupped his strong jaw. "Please." The curtain of his hair fell to the sides, creating a privacy curtain, not that they needed one, as they were alone in the dreamscape. His luminous face was full of passion, but he paused to smile. "Yes." She raised her head as he lowered his, and they kissed as if there was no tomorrow. As though he would be called back to Aetherius by Auri-El at any moment. Category:Blog posts